


Spokes of a Third Wheel

by nuricurry



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 06:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuricurry/pseuds/nuricurry
Summary: He's made a deal with the Devil, and gets to learn all his works. Observations about the lives of others, from a middle-man's perspective. Sexual situations, violence, and also quite a bit of liberty taken with Guido's character.





	Spokes of a Third Wheel

She stares at him blankly, and he shifts under her gaze. Chrome Dokuro simply blinks. 

“Hello,” she finally says after a few minutes, inclining her head slightly. He returns the gesture awkwardly. Damn Japanese customs. 

“Do you know who I am?” he asks, and she nods. 

“Guido Greco-san,” she says softly, “Mukuro-sama told me about you.”

The honorifics are strange. His name sounds weird with such a formal address tacked on. His Japanese is half-assed, and he tries to find the right words.

“Um, I guess I could say something like ‘it’s nice to meet you’, but…” he trails off, because that would be a lie. He doesn’t care about this girl. He’s only here because he had no other choice; Mukuro wanted it this way, and he really couldn’t fight it, not after he had broken him out of the Vendicare and stabbed him (quite literally) in the back. 

“Oh,” she says softly, and she moves closer to him. He takes a step back instinctively, but she ignores it, reaching up to touch the side of his face. It takes him a moment to realize he’s not in control anymore. 

“Chrome,” he hears Mukuro’s voice come from his throat, and it’s something indefinably weird. He knows Mukuro has done this before, taken his body and cast an illusion of himself over it, but he’s never actually witnessed it before. He’s not sure if that was Mukuro’s intention or not, but it’s rather unnerving as he watches Chrome lean up to press her lips to his.

It’s the weirdest thing, being an observer in your own body. He can still see everything, smell and feel everything, but it’s second-hand. He has too much time to think over his surroundings like this; a fact he realizes as he contemplates the exact scent of Chrome’s perfume. Lily-of-the-valley maybe, or orchid, he doesn’t know; he was never good with things like that. He watches as Mukuro slips the straps of Chrome’s dress from her shoulders, watches the fabric tumbles to the floor, revealing her petite form. He can’t stop focusing on the scars marring her body, gashes across her chest and sides, a long, thin line from the center of her collarbone to the bottom of her ribcage. Her stomach looked like it had been ripped open, a thick, unattractive scar cutting across it, and he could see the shape of where stitches might have been. If he cared, he would have wondered where she got them.

“Mukuro-sama,” she pleads, arms reaching up around his neck, and he leans down to kiss her. 

That’s when Mukuro finally shuts him out.

* * *

“Here,” she says to him, holding out a small black school bag, “Your classes begin in an hour.”

“Classes?” he says in disbelief and she blinks once in reply, “Why the hell am I going to school?”

“Mukuro-sama went, and so did Ken, Chikusa and I. Mukuro-sama doesn’t need senseless dead weight.”

He can’t tell if those are Mukuro’s words or hers, with how he doesn’t even know if the damn woman has an opinion other than the apparent gospel Mukuro speaks. So he grabs the bag and storms from the crumbling building in the direction she pointed to.

He doesn’t go to school however. He tosses the bag over a fence and decides to explore the theme park, after not having much of a chance since he arrived. He climbs over fallen buildings and structures, exploring the gutted shops and restaurants. He finds a left over carton of stale cigarettes in one of the buildings and decides to appreciate his luck by smoking the whole thing to pass the time. He had just climbed on top of the old entrance building and tore open the first package when he heard someone below.

“Greco-san,” he heard Chrome’s voice and he looked over the side of the building in disbelief, “You left your bag. You’re also going to be late.”

He gaped at her a moment before shoving the package into his pocket and climbing down, snatching his bag from her before leaving the amusement park.

* * *

He wakes up in Chrome Dokuro’s bed. Holding back a noise, he slips off the mattress before quietly retreating, going to the shabby couch he’s claimed as his own. It’s almost laughable how used to this scenario he is. Mukuro is an outright prick, taking control whenever he pleases and leaving him in the compromised position. It’s weird to think of what Mukuro does with his body, especially when he can catch glimpses of it (a flash of pale skin slick with sweat, a lock of dark hair stark against the pillow), and he doesn’t appreciate the little reminders.

He hears Chrome move on her bed, and he takes the blanket, throwing it over his head and turning onto his side, trying to block out thoughts of anything other than sleep.

* * *

“Hey, I need some money so I can go get some food,” he says as he walks into her bedroom without bothering to knock. Chrome whips around and he’s suddenly greeted with the sight of her right eye without her patch.

It’s…hideous.

The skin is tight and raw, socket hollow beneath the lid. There’s a jagged scar goes from corner to corner, pale and unattractive. Chrome screams and turns away, covering her face with her hands.

Then out of nowhere there’s Mukuro, not from within him, but from thin air, pushing him from the room before closing the door. 

If he didn’t know better he could almost call the look that was on his face concern.

* * *

He wishes he could see him through her eyes.

She says his name like a prayer, holding a reverence to it that is usually reserved for saints and the Madonna. He knows she’s not stupid; she knows everything about Mukuro and more, yet she either ignores it or doesn’t care.

Even as Mukuro fucks her, holds her wrists down and pushes into her almost brutally, she still murmurs his name with that same damned adoration. 

“He’s not a good person you know,” he grumbles one day as he chews on a straw, “He’s killed lots of people.”

“So have you,” she counters softly, never once looking away from her book. He sits up on the couch, leaning in close to her.

“But he does it for fun,” he presses. He doesn’t know why he seems to suddenly want her approval, to have her turn to him with that same respect in her eyes.

Chrome only turns the page.

* * *

He eventually tries talking to her, outside of bitching about the fact that he has to pee in what he's certain is a haunted washroom two floors up from where his room is, or asking where his weekly allowance is, so he can buy some cheap food from the convenience store. It's small talk, painful and awkward, and he feels like there's always someone laughing in the back of his head, every time he tries.

"Where are Chikusa and Ken?" he asks her, because he's finally realized that for the past eight weeks it's just been the two of them in the run down amusement park, and he remembers being told that Mukuro keeps his gang thick as thieves, and rarely apart. At least, that's what he felt like he's heard, maybe from some second-hand rumors at the prison, or maybe from all those dreams he has that he's certain aren't exactly his own. "I'm surprised they're not around, keeping an eye on me," he says, trying to poke fun, or maybe lighten the mood. 

Just as always, Chrome doesn't react, she doesn't smile or laugh, and only answers the important part of his question. "They have their own business to take care of," she says, while her hands are busy, occupied with mending a tear in one of his school jackets. It seems strange, almost hilariously out of character, when he considers that he would never think of her as a domestic by any stretch of the means, given her firm grip on her trident, and the fact that the closest thing he's had to home cooking was Chrome buying him a microwave after a solid week of complaining about the lack of one. Yet, she holds the needle and thread with ease, she bites at the string to cut it after finishing a knot, and she fixes the tear with stitches so fine they blend almost completely seamlessly into the material of his jacket. 

He takes the jacket from her wordlessly; it seems like she's done talking to him for now, that short window that she grants for casual conversation between the two of them closed up tight sooner than usual. Later, after he's gone to wash up before bed, he catches sight of her outside, holding a phone to her ear and pacing in the dirt. Her voice is lowered, but he can tell from her tone that she's agitated, and the hand that holds that phone is gripping it tight. 

"Please, stay safe," is all he's able to make out her saying, before she turns around again, and her back is to him, as she says a few more words before hanging up the phone. 

One of his hands lifts in order to rest against the glass, and for a moment, he simply watches her, staring out the window as Chrome's head tilts back, and her face turns heavenwards. Then, he feels his fingers curl, in order to rap against the glass, and the sound startles him as much as it does her, somewhat taken aback by that brazen gesture of his . It isn't until he catches the faint reflection of himself in the glass that he understands it's not 'himself', he's now someone else, and when Chrome turns around, and realizes who's there now, he sees the mixed look of relief and concern cross her face, as she moves to head back inside, and Mukuro goes to meet her. 

"You worry too much, Chrome," he gently chastises her, as he reaches out to put a hand to the side of her neck, cupping it in his large hand, "How many times have I told you, if Chikusa and Ken aren't able to keep themselves alive on their own, then they're useless to me anyway. You all know that by now." 

She doesn't reply, she only closes her one eye and lets out a sigh, tilting her head into his touch, a soft, submissive gesture. That's when he's pushed out again, and he catches Mukuro's intentions without the other having to explain himself. _You all know that by now._ It's a warning, a reminder, to keep up, or get out his way. 

He will never understand the loyalty that Mukuro invokes in people.

* * *

As he lies bleeding on Byakuran’s carpet, listening to some half-nonsense bullshit Mukuro decides to prattle off to make his dramatic exit more dynamic, all he can think about is those few months at Koukyo Land. Mukuro doesn’t seem to care that his mind is wandering— probably a last wish grace—and the last thing he sees is Chromes face looking up from the mattress and he can almost pretend it’s him she sees before Byakuran crushes him.


End file.
